The Westminster Poisoner (34 page)

‘You once said you would teach me French,’ said
Temperance, flopping into one of the seats and indicating he was to perch opposite. ‘The language of love.’

‘There is not much love in what your cook is screeching.’

Temperance smiled dreamily. ‘I was not thinking of using it on him.’

As Temperance rarely went out, Chaloner could only assume she had fallen for one of her patrons. ‘You have a …’ He was
not quite sure how to phrase the question, given that ‘liking for a client’ was unlikely to be very well received. ‘…
a friend?’ he finished lamely.

‘A certain person
has
become rather special during the last few weeks. I did not think I would ever be smitten by a man, but this one is different
– worthy of my affection. I think I shall marry him.’

‘Really?’ Chaloner was amazed: Temperance had always been of the firm opinion that matrimony was a condition to be avoided
at all costs. ‘Who is he?’

‘Someone you will like. He is not here tonight, though, or I would introduce you. But you should meet him. Come to dine with
us on Twelfth Night, although you must promise to behave – no turning taciturn if he asks you questions, and no caustic remarks
about the morality of the Court, either. He is a gay sort, and will think you a prude.’

‘I cannot,’ replied Chaloner, a little dismayed that she did not trust him to be amiable. ‘Bulteel has asked me to go to his
house on Twelfth Night – he wants me to be godfather to his son.’

‘Bulteel? Ugh! It will be like dining with a Puritan, and you are sure to come away hungry. And you should not agree to be
the godfather, either. The poor brat deserves better.’

‘You think I am not good enough?’ It was one thing to believe himself unequal to the task, but quite another to hear it so
baldly stated from someone who was supposed to be his friend.

‘I mean better in terms of
fun
,’ elaborated Temperance. ‘You seldom have any, and he will need someone to show him the ways of the world. And I do not mean
how to kill people in dark alleys, speak peculiar languages, or pick locks, either. I refer to dancing and cards.’

‘The important things in life.’

Temperance shot him an unpleasant glance. ‘Quite. However, these two invitations will not conflict – Bulteel’s soirée will
be during the day, while mine will be the night before – so you can attend both. Come at midnight. I will make sure you are
with your dull little colleague by the following noon.’

Chaloner should have known she was unlikely to do anything in daylight. She was seldom up before three, by which time the
winter sun was already setting. ‘That is a singular time for dinner.’

She shrugged. ‘You let yourself be too constrained by tradition, Tom, and it is turning you into a bore. You should adopt
my motto:
carpe notarium
.’

‘Seize the secretary?’ translated Chaloner, bemused.

‘Seize the
night
. I thought you knew Latin. Brodrick taught me that phrase, and I rather like it.’

Chaloner found he did not want to join her tradition-flaunting party, and tried to think of an excuse that would allow him
to miss it. ‘Actually, I have also been asked to Sir Nicholas Gold’s—’

Temperance arched her eyebrows. ‘You are a social creature these days! But Gold’s invitation will not clash with mine, either.
His soirée will start at dusk and be
over by ten, when he will retire to bed with a cup of warm milk. Do not look so dubious – you will enjoy being with me and
James. We shall dine on mince-pies, venison sausages and a Double Codlin Tart. And I have ordered a pelican.’

Chaloner blinked. ‘Have you? Whatever for?’

Temperance’s expression was defiant, which told him she had probably never seen one. ‘Brodrick said it is what the King is
having, so I told my butcher to get us one, too. What is good enough for His Majesty is good enough for me, and I am not having
another turkey. Did you know the beast we were going to eat last year has taken up residence on Hampstead Heath, and no one
dares go near it?’

Chaloner was pleased. He liked birds, and had not relished the notion of such a fine specimen having its neck wrung. ‘What
is your friend’s name?’ he asked, suspecting she would not feel the same way, so changing the subject before they could argue
about it.

‘James Grey.’ Her hand went to her bodice, where a square of red silk had been tucked down the front of it, clearly a love
token. ‘He plays the viol, which should commend him to you. You can bring yours, and we shall have music.’

Then perhaps the occasion would not be so bad after all, thought Chaloner, watching as Temperance reached up to the mantelpiece
and took down a pipe. She had only recently acquired the habit when he had last seen her, but a few weeks had turned her into
a seasoned smoker – her movements were deft and confident as she tamped the bowl with tobacco. When it was lit, and she was
encased in a billowing haze, she regarded him reproachfully.

‘You know you are always welcome here, Tom, but only if you agree not to insult my guests. They are volatile at the best of
times, and I cannot afford to have you challenging them to duels.’

‘Chiffinch challenged me,’ Chaloner pointed out. ‘All I did was defend his wife.’

‘They insult their wives all the time, but it means nothing. They come here to forget them, and on the whole, I do not blame
them. Barbara Chiffinch is a sharp-tongued shrew with no sense of humour.’

‘She has an excellent sense of humour, despite being married to that worthless dog for forty years.’

‘You and I always disagree these days,’ said Temperance sadly. ‘You never used to be like this. You have changed, and I am
glad I did not marry you.’

Gallantly, Chaloner resisted the urge to say he had never considered asking her – and now he had seen what she had become,
he was heartily glad of it. ‘It is you who have changed. A year ago, you were spending half your life in chapel, and the other
half helping the poor.’

‘And I was deeply unhappy,’ she shot back. ‘Whereas now I run my own business, I am rich beyond my wildest dreams, James loves
me,
and
I have a glut of wealthy and influential companions.’

‘Chiffinch and Brodrick are fair-weather friends,’ warned Chaloner, not liking the notion that she might think them dependable.
When all was said and done, Temperance was barely twenty, and her strict Puritan upbringing meant she had little experience
of the world. ‘If there is a popular uprising against debauchery and vice – and it could happen, because Londoners deplore
the Court’s profligacy – they will not help you when your house is attacked.’

Temperance puffed smoke through rouged lips. ‘That will not happen – the King will not let it, and I have James to protect
me, anyway. You are beginning to sound like Thurloe – a tedious old misery.’

‘I should go,’ said Chaloner, standing abruptly. Thurloe had been good to Temperance after her parents had died, and he was
sorry she had forgotten his kindness so soon. ‘I only came to ask after your health.’

‘I am well – it is you who is testy. Let me provide you with a lady, to put you in better spirits, so we can have a civilised
conversation. You can have Snowflake. She knows how to make a man smile.’

‘I am sure she does,’ replied Chaloner coolly, ‘but I did not come to inveigle a …’ He waved his hand, not sure what was
the correct term for an offer of a free whore. ‘I came to see you.’

Temperance smiled at last. ‘Then we should set aside our differences and talk. Sit down and have some coffee. Maude made it.’

Chaloner took a sip of the black brew, then fought the urge to spit it out. It was the most powerful thing he had ever tasted,
so thick it was more syrup than beverage. Maude had a reputation for potent infusions, but this one was hearty, even by her
standards. There was a rumour that her first husband had died from drinking her coffee, and Chaloner was perfectly willing
to believe it.

‘Christ, Temperance!’ he managed eventually. ‘Who taught her to make this? The Devil?’

Temperance laughed. ‘Have some more. You will soon acquire a taste for it.’

But Chaloner did not want to acquire a taste for it. He pushed the dish aside, then shook his head when she offered him a
pipe.

She raised her eyebrows. ‘Shall I warm you some milk, then?’

‘You have made some improvements to your parlour since I was last here,’ he said, deciding he had better bring the conversation
around to statues before they fell out in earnest.

She grinned. ‘James suggested we commission Brodrick to purchase us a few masterpieces. We must have the best, because our
patrons will notice if we opt for rubbish. And Brodrick may be an old reprobate, but he does know his way around an art gallery.’

‘He does,’ agreed Chaloner. ‘But he also throws food about when he has had too much to drink. I hope he and his cronies do
not damage anything irreplaceable.’

‘That is why we decided to go for statues – Apollo was hit by a pineapple last night, but he suffered no ill effects whatsoever.
I do not like sculpture, personally. Most of it seems to revolve around smug Roman emperors and fat Greek goddesses toting
unlikely weapons.’

Chaloner made no comment, although he found himself thinking, rather uncharitably, that she had recently grown a lot more
portly than any Greek goddess.

‘But I got Brodrick to buy extras, so I can rotate them,’ she went on. ‘I do not want to be looking at the same stony visages
every night for the next fifty years. The spares are in the cellar, and I gave myself
such
a fright the other day. You would have laughed! I went down there for wine, and glanced up to find Nero staring at me. I
screamed so loud that Preacher Hill came racing to my rescue.’

‘Who is the artist?’

Temperance frowned. ‘Do you mean who crafted my Nero? Some Italian, I think. Why?’

‘I wondered whether it was Bernini.’

‘I do not approve of
him
. Did you know he is a Swedish hermaphrodite, who likes rope-dancing and hedgehogs?’ There was a slight pause. ‘What is a
hermaphrodite, Tom? I do not like to ask James, lest he think me ignorant.’

‘He will not think you ignorant. Are those the only reasons you do not like Bernini?’

Temperance shot him a sideways glance. ‘Are these questions anything to do with the King’s missing statue?’

‘I heard you made enquiries about Bernini before his masterpiece was stolen.’

She gaped at him. ‘You heard it from whom?’

‘It does not matter. But your discussion was overheard, and your courtly friends cannot keep secrets. So take warning and
be careful what you say in future. But why
did
you ask about the sculpture?’

‘People were talking about it, and as I had been buying statues of my own, I had an interest. I asked Chiffinch what was so
special about Bernini.’

Chaloner regarded her sadly. ‘You would lie to me?’

‘Why not, when you lie to me?’ Temperance flashed back. ‘You pump me for information, but seldom give anything in return.
And you did not really come to see me tonight – you came because of an investigation. Admit it! Well, I am
not
telling you what prompted my interest in Bernini. You will have to find out another way.’

‘Temperance, I—’

‘Go home, Thomas. You presume too much on our friendship.’

The spat with Temperance had upset Chaloner, and he did not feel like sleeping alone in his chilly garret, so he went to visit
Hannah. She had only just returned home, and was so angry that she could barely form the words to tell him why. Apparently,
the Queen had been invited to a ball that evening, and had been delighted to think she was included in a Court occasion at
last. She had spent all day preparing, taking care not only with her dress, but also to learn new English phrases that she
hoped would impress her hosts. But when she arrived at the Banqueting House, where the dance was to take place, she found
it closed. Moreover, there was not a courtier to be found in the entire palace.

‘My first thought was that it was the Lord of Misrule,’ spat Hannah furiously. ‘And a few enquiries revealed that Brodrick
has
declared White Hall off-limits to anyone who does not want to be doused in green paint tonight. But it was heartless to raise
the Queen’s hopes with a gesture of friendship, only to dash them so pitilessly, and I do not think Brodrick is that low.’

Chaloner was inclined to agree. The Earl’s cousin was
dissolute and hedonistic, but he was not cruel. ‘I do not suppose you noticed what Lady Castlemaine was doing all day, did
you?’

Hannah nodded, eyes flashing. ‘Encouraging the Queen in her excitement, telling her what a wonderful night it would be. But
when it was time to go to the Banqueting House, she disappeared.’

‘Then there is your culprit.’

‘Damn her!’ cried Hannah. ‘No doubt she will be delighted when she hears how deep a wound she has inflicted. But I do not
want to discuss it any more; I am too incensed. Tell me what you have been doing instead. Where did you spend your evening?’

‘In a brothel,’ replied Chaloner, loath to lie when there was a chance that someone like Brodrick or Chiffinch might report
seeing him there.

But Hannah glowered at him. ‘If you cannot tell me the truth for reasons relating to your investigation, then that is fair
enough, but do not insult me by inventing wild tales. I am not in the mood. Tell about your
morning
, then, if your evening is off limits. Where did you go, and whom did you meet?’

‘Why?’ asked Chaloner warily.

‘It is called making conversation, Thomas,’ snapped Hannah, eyeing him balefully. ‘What is wrong with you? Surely, your work
cannot be so secret that you are unable to tell me that you exchanged greetings with Lady Muskerry, or that you prefer the
coffee in John’s to that served in the Rainbow?’

Chaloner raised his hands in a shrug, although he wondered whether it had been chance or design that led her to mention the
establishment where his suspects met. ‘I am sorry. It has been a long day.’